


Simple

by Faetality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter, Angst, BDSM, Edgeplay, Future Fic, Good Peter Hale, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Overstimulation, Safewords, Stiles Stilinski Has Panic Attacks, Whipping, mostly comfort, snapshot style fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 00:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19051804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: Stiles was curious, Stiles was bored, Stiles had spent far too long running from things. Maybe it was time to get something he wanted. If that just happened to be Peter Hale taking him apart every evening they weren’t getting chased by monsters, well... that was his prerogative.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Steter Reverse Bang, inspired by the playlist below-  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2AaZqcidncczqPsJfyjKD7  
> Huge shoutout to both thechaosgoddess on tumblr, who was my partner for this event, and to my lovely beta.

“I don’t know man, it seems like a pretty bad idea.” 

“I’ve been doing a lot of research on it and there’s a ton of safe clubs around here and I know what not to do. I’m just thinking it’s probably better to just go and sate my curiosity. One night and then if it’s something I want more of-”

“It’s still a bad idea, Stiles! Like, what if whoever you get it on with actually hurts you”

“I mean that’s-”

“No I mean  _ really. _ ”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” 

It feels like an eternity before Scott sighs and shakes his head. Stiles isn’t about to back down though. If Scott won’t have his back on this he’d just go by himself. 

 

*

Simplicity was a BDSM club forty minutes outside of Beacon Hills with a comprehensive rules list on their website and a five star review. It was the safest place Stiles had found in regard to the wealth of information on it  _ and  _ the location being far enough away that he wasn’t going to run into anyone he knew. Stiles dressed in a plain black, wide strapped tank top and the one pair of skinny jeans he found in the bottom of his closet. With an overshirt for comfort and his converse he set out. He felt out of place before he stepped in the door, the bouncer outside the door looked him over and demanded I.D. before he was five feet from him. Expected but not comforting. 

 

Anxiety gnawed at him the closer he got to being inside the club. The lights were soft, comforting almost, but they cast long shadows in the corners and he knew they were occupied one way or another. The bar took up the far side, bathed in blue light and the center of the cornering wall held a stage. Curiosity took over his movements and he drifted that way. The place was full but not crowded. Enough people to ignore that he was being watched because people had to look somewhere. Enough people to slip into the crowd. He wasn’t sure what exactly he expected from the place but it’s clear that there are people from all walks of life around him. People in suits and those in mesh with so little fabric that if they were naked it would be less provocative. 

  
With the knowledge he wasn’t standing out he searches out a seat not far from the stage and settles down to simply observe for a while. He doesn’t want to be creepy but he knows he’s not ready to participate tonight. 

 

Someone sends him a drink near the thirty minute mark and not long after comes a man with perfectly styled blond hair and a smile. “I haven’t  seen you here before.” He’s attractive, maybe in his mid twenties, and he sits down like he belongs there. It’s presumptuous but not pretentious. 

 

Stiles sets the drink aside, untouched, and smiles. “First time.” 

 

“Oh yeah? I’m Jay, if you wanted I could show you the ropes.” He winks and Stiles can’t help but laugh. It’s a line, a pun, and it’s almost ridiculous how hard it hits him. But he wants that. He wants to get hands on with everything he’s read about- but. 

  
“I don’t know.” 

“No contracts, if you wanted to fool around I’m good with that.” 

 

“ _ Oh are you?”  _ The voice is smooth, a purr with the edge of a blade. It’s dark and dangerous and comes from just over Stiles shoulder and he  _ knows  _ that voice. Knows the smirk and dark eyes that go with it. He doesn’t have to look to know that it’s Peter Hale standing behind him. He doesn’t need to look at his face to know the expression that has the blond across from him shifting to his feet. 

 

“I didn’t realize you were… claimed.” 

 

His protest of, “I’m not.” is lost under Peter’s command of “Run along now.” 

 

With Jay gone he closes his eyes and steels himself to deal with the wolf; opening his eyes greets him with an unexpected sight. One that he swears isn’t the cause of the heat that burns through him. He’d have to be blind to not know that Peter was attractive, assholery aside, but there’s Peter in the loft and there’s Peter sitting across from him in a BDSM club. The difference is in the fit of his shirt and the curve of his pants and how there’s the hint of  _ something  _ in his eyes that Stiles hasn’t seen before. He holds himself confidently, but with more command than he did in day-to-day life. He’d never have imagined it before, but seeing him now Stiles knows Peter’s been here before. That he was comfortable in his position. 

 

“What are you looking for, Stiles?” 

 

“Nothing.”

 

“People don’t come here because they’re looking for nothing. Tell me.” It’s a moment, a singular beat of silence while they stare each other down across the blacktopped table. 

 

“I was curious.” 

 

“Just curious?”

 

“I wanted to try it out. This seemed like a good place to start.” He wasn’t about to be judged for anything he chose to do. But then again, what room did Peter have to judge? Blue eyes flicker to the drink at his side and Stiles shrugs.

 

“Lesson one, alcohol and this life style don’t mix. Anyone who tries to get you drunk and into a room is a horrible dom… I do have a question for you.”

 

“Shocker” 

  
“What are you looking for? What are you trying to get out of this?” 

 

“You mean am I looking for a dom or a sub?” 

 

“In some words, yes.”

 

“I think… I think I want someone else to have the reigns.” It was something he’d thought hard about, but in truth his life was so hectic that the idea of letting go of that for a while was appealing. Finding someone to hand the control over him that the things he wanted required would prove more of a challenge, but he’d find someone eventually. “But anyway, I’m sure you have better places to be.” 

 

“Let me be your Dom.”  

 

_ Woah. What? What the hell?  _

 

“Uh yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

 

“Stiles, I can make sure you know what you’re doing. Make sure you’re safe.” 

 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Peter wasn’t an enemy, he’d spent a considerable amount of time helping them with the issues that had risen in Beacon Hills in the past several years, but he was still Peter. Being better than he was didn’t make him good. 

 

“Consider my proposal. I’ll be your dom, no strings attached, and the pack never has to know.”

 

It’s an offer that is entirely unlike Peter. Stiles stares, licks his lips, stands. 

 

“I think I should probably get home.” 

 

“Be safe, Stiles.”


	2. Dinner & Diatribes

“It’s important that no one goes out alone.” Derek was talking, standing in front of the lofts windows and watching the pack like he was in control. Scott was just to the side, echoing the sentiment. 

 

“We’ll patrol in pairs and everyone can just put their name down for nights that work for them.” It was the same speech Stiles had heard every week for over a _year._ Same story, different names. The only real difference between tonight and the last six was that this time Peter was sitting five feet away. The older wolf was a rare sight on pack nights - still on the fringes but getting better. Their conversation three weeks prior hung heavy over Stiles’ head. The offer was always in the back of his mind and no matter what he did it kept going full circle back to that night. _No strings attached._ There were always strings attached. Peter Hale didn’t deal in acts of generosity. He was a businessman. But what would he get out of such an arrangement? Stiles knew what _he_ got, but Peter . . . _I can make sure you’re safe._

 

“Stiles?”

“Huh?”

“I was asking if you’re still researching what the thing that’s been attacking animals on the north side of the preserve is.” 

“Yeah but I haven’t really narrowed it down yet.” 

“Keep working on it.” 

 

_ What else am I going to do?  _

 

The meeting drags on for another twenty minutes before the first of them began to leave. Liam was the first gone, citing homework and early lacrosse practice and Mason went with him. The rest of the group seemed to settle in though, topics turning much more mundane. Peter stands and slips away without a word, no one else notices him go.

  
“I’ll take Tuesday and Wednesday for patrol. I’ll see you guys later.” 

 

Stiles takes the stairs because the elevator was the one thing in the loft he trusted less than Deaton. It’s just past nine and the air is cool against his skin as he hurries to catch up to the wolf. He finds him waiting by his car, leaned against the side door with his arms crossed as if he were waiting for Stiles to follow him all along. It makes him a little mad. 

 

“Can I help you?” 

“I thought about it. Your proposal, I mean. I want to do it. I want . . . I want you to be my dom. Temporarily.” He watches Peter process the words, sees the flicker behind his eyes before the wolf looks him over and nods. Stiles takes it as permission to move forward half a step. “No one else gets to know and if you take advantage of this I’ll kill you myself.” He needs the safety net, needs to know that this won’t blow up in his face down the road. “Promise me.”

“I promise that no one else will know of this agreement from me.” 

“Good.”

“Good.” Gravel crunches under his feet as he’s suddenly aware that he’s put his cards on the table. He waits and waits until the silence feels like a physical touch and then Peter smiles - it’s sharp and knowing and dangerous and it makes a shiver run up his spine. “How about we start right now?”

“Now?” That was unexpected. “I- I mean if-”

“Stiles.” His name cuts through the nerves and Peter’s voice makes his straighten up. “Yes or no?” 

“Yes.” 

“Get in your car, go home, and I will pick you up in my car in twenty minutes outside of your apartment.”

“Scott will know you’ve been there.”

“Then I will pick you up down the street. Go.” He’s in his car and down the road before he even begins to question how easily he followed the command. That’s what it was. A command. He wasn’t someone who just did as he was told but that didn’t stop him from parking the Jeep, and jogging back down the road. He didn’t want to examine it right then. Peter was idling at the end of the street and barely spared him a glance when he sat in the passenger seat.

 

“Ready?” 

“Yep.” 

*

Peter’s apartment was nice. Very nice. It was filled with antiques and expensive artifacts, but what really drew Stiles’ eye were the scattered books and the collection of vinyls stacked on a table in the living room. He drifts that way while Peter hangs up his coat. 

 

_ Cage the Elephant. Queen. David Bowie. Nirvana . . .  _ a hand on his lower back startles him and he spins, eyes wide. The move only serves to bring him chest to chest with the wolf, the hand still steady on his back. Holding him. 

 

“I have a few rules before start.”

“Okay.”

“Since we don’t have a contract yet, I need you to communicate with me. I’d demand that with a contract as well but even more so now. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Communication. Got it.”

“If you need to stop at any time I want you to use red, yellow for slow down - but if you use stop or wait I’ll listen to that as well tonight.” He paused and Stiles is quick to nod. “Repeat it.” 

“Red for stop. Yellow for wait. But if I forget it’s okay tonight.”

“Very good.” 

“What else? You said a few, so what else do I need to know?”

“You’re not to hold back, your noises, words, I want to hear it all.” His voice was lower, Stiles knows he’s not imagining the growl to it when lips stop an inch from his own. “Understood?” 

“ _ Yes _ .” 

 

The kiss is expected but he’s not prepared for it. How does one prepare for a wildfire? Peter’s lips are soft and guiding, Stiles surrenders without realizing he’s done it. His hands land on Peter’s shoulders in a grab for steady ground. It’s not until his lungs are burning that he dares pull away, eyes opening to find Peter looking at him with that infuriating smirk. 

 

“Have something you wanted to say?” 

“Fuck.”

“We’re getting there.” 

 

Peter guides him down the hall, into the wolf’s bedroom. He doesn’t get to look, there’s no time to satisfy his curiosity about Peter’s living space when he’s being stripped of his clothes and lips and teeth are mapping his neck. Peter strips him down to his boxers and steps away. Stiles was never self conscious, not really. He knew he was in shape but standing in front of Peter, who was built like . . . well. He was a werewolf and he was attractive by  _ their  _ standards. Compared to that Stiles couldn’t help but note a few things he’d change about himself. Peter doesn’t let him dwell on that for long, stripping his own shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. 

 

He unbuttons his jeans and then stops. Stiles steps forward, “See something you like?” 

“Shut up.”    
“Brat.” 

 

There’s a sudden hold on his wrist, he’s dragged forward until his hand is pressed flat against the wolf’s chest. Peter’s other hand drags against his side, up until he can grip Stiles’ throat, his thumb makes smooth swipes against the unmarked skin. “We are going to have so much fun together, Stiles. Get on the bed.” As Stiles climbs onto the king sized bed, he hears the sound of jeans hitting the floor and when he turns it’s to see Peter, fully naked. Hands land on his thighs, making room for Peter to sit between them. 

 

“You’re allowed to touch. Tonight will be quite boring if you don’t.”

 

He sits, drags hands over Peter’s skin. With permission granted there’s nothing to stop him from kissing, exploring the subtle way Peter’s spine dips. There’s the hint of claws against his skin and then the tearing of fabric, leaving him naked beneath the wolf. “That’s better.” 

 

Stiles sucks a mark into the curve of Peter’s shoulder and feels satisfied even as it fades. As he moves higher to place more marks, fingers tangle in his hair and pull. The sting is  _ good.  _

 

“Nuh-uh. Not my neck, pretty boy.” When he moves in for another kiss Peter growls and shoves him down into the mattress. “My turn.” 

 

It’s all heat and skin and moans from there. Peter starts at his chest, leaving dark bruises like brands before moving down his stomach. Hands pin his hips to the bed and then Peter . . . Peter moves past his cock. Peter gives his thighs the same attention as his chest even as Stiles pulls at his hair and writhes underneath him. 

 

“Peter, Peter please. Come on- touch me.” 

“Like this?” a single finger trails up with cock, “Or this?”  He chokes on air when Peter takes him into his mouth. He gets to the edge embarrassingly fast and just as he feels he might get the release he’s craving Peter pulls back and licks his lips. “What do you want?” 

“Fuck me. Peter, come on. I want it.” 

 

Stiles didn’t care how he sounded, if there was a desperate edge to his voice - he hadn’t been with someone in so long, he wanted the wolf inside of him, over him. He wanted. Peter’s a solid weight on top of him, cock slotted in the v of his hips. With nothing to hold him back Stiles grinds up, watches Peter’s eyes flutter at the sensation and revels in his sharp breath. 

 

“Turn over for me. I’m going to open you up and then,  _ maybe _ , I’ll fuck you.” 

 

Hands guide him over and onto his knees and then Peter is gone and there’s the sound of drawers opening. “Tell me Stiles, have you ever done this before?” 

“Sex?”

“Yes, sex. Like this.” The dry pad of a thumb brushes his hole and he shivers. 

“No. But I'm not a stranger to the process.” 

 

Peter was generous with the lube, first finger sliding in smooth and Stiles fought back a squirm at the initial intrusion. “Easy,” a second finger joins the first and the stretch is uncomfortable but not bad, especially when Peter places a broad palm against his back and soothes his nerves. He knows what it’s supposed to be like, he’s a curious person and sex is a curious topic, but there was something unexpected when there was someone else over you, controlling what you were feeling. So when Peter brushes his prostate he can’t hold back his moan, “oh my god.” 

“Good?”

“Yes.” 

“One more, and Stiles, don’t try to be quiet.” 

 

He’s thankful that Peter didn’t seem inclined to tease. He worked two fingers in with ease and then Stiles found himself on his back. Peter rolls a condom on with one hand and hauls Stiles’ leg over his shoulder with another, “Ready?” 

“ _ God yes.”  _ He clings to the wolf, back arching so they’re nearly chest to chest. It’s an eternity and a second before Peter bottoms outs and places a light kiss to his lips. “Tell me when to move, sweetheart.” It’s overwhelming, being caged in by Peter’s arms, held open by his will. Stiles loves it. His every nerve is on fire but he needs more. So much more. His voice is a whine, but he manages to demand- 

  
“ _ Move.” _

 

Every bit of care flies out the window; the first thrust is slow but hard, and from there Peter gives Stiles  _ everything.  _ It’s only Peter’s right hand on his thigh, and Peter’s left hand on the wall that keeps him in place. “Peter! Fuck, Peter-” his digs nails into the wolf’s back, tossing his head back to bare his neck when Peter growls at him. 

 

The act of submission does the trick and lips are suddenly there. “You make- the- prettiest- sounds.” 

“I want to come, Peter, please.” 

“Then come. I’m not” a sharp nip at his collar bone, “stopping you. Go on. Touch yourself.” 

 

When his fingers wrap around his own cock, Peter whispers against his skin, “Good boy.” Stiles comes in no time at all, painting Peter’s stomach in white. It takes just a minute for Peter to follow him over the edge. The wolf hovers over him a moment, eyes half lidded before Peter sets his leg down and pulls out of him. 

 

“Next time I’m going to mark you properly.” 

_ Next time.  _ It’s a promise. 

“Oh yeah?” He watches Peter cross the room to what must be the bathroom - the sound of running water confirms that. Peter comes back into the room with a damp washcloth and Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows only to be ungraciously shoved back down. 

 

“Yeah. I just can’t decide if I want to mark your face or inside of you.” The rag is chilly but not cold. “Maybe I’ll just do both.” After the first touch he relaxes under Peter’s hands. It’s quick and thorough and when he’s done Peter tosses the washcloth towards the bathroom. “Move up for me and roll over. It’s too late for you to go home and I have no intention of being the little spoon.” 

 

The mental image of wrapping himself around Peter from behind in some form of domesticity was amusing, if not a little desirable. Stiles does as asked though and soon Peter is at his back. He’s not touching, just close enough to let Stiles feel his warmth. 

 

“Go to sleep, Stiles.” 

“You’re not the boss of me.”

 

He’s asleep before Peter replies. 


	3. Play With Fire

Their first night together was good, even if they didn’t play. The next morning Peter showed him the door, the boy insisting he’d overstayed his welcome and that his father was going to worry if he didn’t meet him for breakfast. Peter didn’t fight for him to do otherwise, after all, he would be back before long. With the sultry scent of sex soaked into his sheets, Peter retrieved his laptop from the bedroom and threw open the windows. Stiles was quieter in bed than expected, as much as the boy liked to run his mouth during the day, Peter had thought he’d have a real show. The noises he  _ did _ make were spectacular, but there was more to be coaxed out. He was sure of it. The boy was a bit of a brat, but that was to be expected; they weren’t scening though . . . there was a lot to explore. 

 

He boots up the laptop and pulls open a new word document. If he was going to write a contract it was going to be a proper one. Peter hadn’t written a contract since a year before the fire, but once he starts it’s easy. He keeps it short, simple, covers every base he can think of - communication was key, promises to keep Stiles as safe as possible, and to be available when he was needed. Stiles’ part he keeps flexible, it was Stiles who was going to set the pace after all. When that is done he prints two copies and then starts in on a checklist; he emails Stiles a copy of both with a simple note to have the checklist done by the weekend.

 

In the meantime, he had his own preparations to take care of.

\- 

 

Stiles sent him a finished copy of his checklist on Thursday, and on Friday Peter was ready for his arrival. Their lists were laid side by side on the coffee table and the contracts were set above them. 

 

“Stiles.”

“Peter.”

“This is the draft I wrote for our contract, of course you are welcome to ask questions and change anything you don’t like about it, and we can adjust it in the future as needed. Same for the checklists.” He watches Stiles read, the way his eyes flick between the two sheets and how he lingers on some rows. Not all of their wants matched up but Stiles also listed very few hard limits for himself. Peter had room to play as much as he wanted. 

 

“One thing in the contract . . . there’s a part about being available. That should go both ways, right?” 

“It can.”  

“I want it to.” 

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Not today- as long as you respect the list I don’t think there’s anything else to go over.”

“Of course, Stiles.” It wasn’t as though it would be hard. The few restrictions Stiles had put were full body restraint and bodily fluids (outside the obvious of course) as hard limits and sensory deprivation was a soft limit. 

 

“Shall we begin?”

-

Stiles is pretty on his knees. With his eyes wide open and pouty lips parted. The curve of his neck as Peter tips his chin up and how his hands lay flat on his thighs. Submissive in all the best ways, but tainted by the smallest thread of anxiety. Obedient but too in his own head. He would fix that soon. 

 

“Eyes on me, Stiles. Back straight. Very good.” 

 

Peter circles him once, fingers playing over mole dotted shoulders and back to his jaw. 

 

“Relax.” 

 

He undoes his fly, drawing his cock out. “Open for me.” He knows this is new territory and he keeps his actions slow, lets the head rest against Stiles’ lips. “Go on, show me how bad you want my cock.” His mouth is heaven. 

 

It’s a chore to keep from grabbing onto Stiles’ hair; he wants to gain his willing submission and he’s wary of forcing Stiles into anything too quickly. He places his palm on the back of the boy’s head, “you can take more than that, you’re making me think you don’t actually want this, Stiles.” 

 

The young man surges forwards, doe eyes on Peter’s face. It’s heavenly, warmth and pressure in all the right ways. There’s no finesse, but that was what Peter was there for. 

 

“Suck. Move your tongue, don’t try to take too much-” he digs fingers into his scalp, snarling as he hits the back of Stiles’ throat. “I said, slow.” 

 

How Stiles manages to look cheeky with a cock in his mouth Peter would love to know. Claws prick the tips of his fingers. “Careful.” 

 

There’s steel in Stiles’ eyes when he pulls back. “Maybe, I don’t want careful.” 

 

Peter digs fingers into Stiles’ hair and pulls him back down on his cock until the boy chokes. Peter wants to fuck his throat, to hear him whine and mark him inside and out. He guides Stiles back and forward again, back and pauses. 

 

“Put your hands on my thighs, hit me if it gets to be too much. Understand? Show me?” Stiles bangs his fist twice against Peter’s thigh. “Good boy.” 

 

Peter sets an even pace, not going too far but letting his cock go further than comfortable. Stiles takes it beautifully. His mouth full and eyes closed. “Perfect little cockslut,” and that’s what does it. Stiles relaxes and surrenders, fingers squeezing Peter’s thighs and moaning.

  
“So good for me. Make me come and I’ll give you what you need.” 

 

He gentles his grip and lets his head roll back. Stiles learned quickly, and with his embarrassment non-existent, Peter is content, thrusting shallowly until his stomach tightens. 

 

“I’m going to come, it’s your choice where I’m spilling myself tonight. Your face or your mouth? What will it be?” 

 

The pressure on his cock increases, lips sealing as far down as Stiles can reach. 

 

“Very good.” When he’s done he gently sends Stiles back onto his heels. He uses his thumb to wipe Stiles’ lips clean and smiles. “Stand up. What’s your color?” 

“Green.” 

“Then climb on the bed, face down.” 

 

He runs his hands down the boy’s spine, curling them around Stiles’ hips. “I’m going to fuck you, but first - first I want to hear you beg for me.” He expects it to be harder than it is. He expects to work Stiles up until he was strung so tightly that he was going to snap. He expects a fight. He’s so happy with what he’s given. 

 

At the first touch to his hole Stiles is sinking down on his elbows, a little sigh leaving his lips. By the second twist of Peter’s fingers Stiles is gasping. When he has three fingers buried deep the scent of desperate pleasure begins to fill the room and Stiles is making increasingly loud noises underneath him, but no words. 

 

“Peter- Peter please. I need you in me. Now.”

“You don’t give commands here, sweetheart.”

“Please. Please. I need it. I need . . . ”

“What do you need?”   
“You. I need you.”

 

Who is he to deny such a request? He drags Stiles back against him, kisses his shoulder gently. “What’s your safeword, darling?” 

“Red.” 

“Good boy.” He doesn’t dare hold back after that. His hands grip hard enough to leave bruises and he drags Stiles back into his thrusts. 

 

“Oh god - fuck -  _ Peter _ .”

“I’m going to make you ride me one day; until you’re begging to cum and think you can’t take it anymore.” 

 

Peter tells him what he wants, spins scenes that are going to be reality. He places his claim on the boy’s shoulders and neck until Stiles is making breathy noises on every thrust and his hands are scrambling at the sheets and Peter knows neither of them are going to last another minute. 

 

His hand wraps around Stiles’ cock and he falls apart at the touch. Peter pulls out and lays claim, stiping Stiles’ back in his seed. He breathes heavy and drops back on his heels. Stiles is limp against the bed, weighing nothing when Peter gathers him against his chest and carries him to the bathroom.

“I can stand up, Peter.” It’s quiet, slow. Like he’s coming down or just waking up. Peter sets him on the tile floor, hand on his hip to hold him steady. He starts the shower. 

 

“Step in.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Aftercare is important.”

 

Stiles leans against his chest, eyes half lidded. The plan had been to ease Stiles into it. The blooming bruises on his skin stood in contrast to that, but it was still simple as far as scenes went. Peter fits his fingers onto the marks he had made, listens to Stiles hiss. The hiss turns into a sigh as he washes the boy’s hair. 

 

Peter could get used to this.


	4. Fire Up The Night

_“I want you to whip me.”_

Six words said in the haze of a cumdrunk evening. Six words he’d been building up to for a while.

 

Peter raises a brow, hands stilling where he was reading. Stiles waits with his lip caught in his teeth. 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“If you manage to find how to kill a siren before Friday I’ll reward you for it.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I figured out how to kill it half an hour ago. Trapping it is the hard part.”

“Is that right?” There’s something dangerous in that tone. Stiles grins.

 “Yeah. I’m right.”

 

The siren was dead by nightfall, blood smeared over a silver-tipped Rowan wood spear. It was easy, and it was with easy movements that Stiles cleaned the weapon while Peter took care of the rest. He didn't enjoy fighting- not like Peter did- but he could enjoy the way Peter looked at him after. As though he was something amazing. Scott didn’t need to know the extent of the damage, he only needed to know the rest of the pack were safe. Derek . . . Derek understood it.

 

A hand lays lightly on Stiles’ shoulder, blue eyes looking down at him in the low light.

“I believe I was promised a reward.”

“I believe you were.”

 

He’s tied to the bedpost, back to the room., standing at the foot of the bed that he had grown familiar with these past weeks. Hands smooth over his back before footsteps whisper across the room. “Count until you can’t anymore. You won’t be punished for stopping.” It’s all the warning he’s given before the air parts with a crack. Stiles scrambles to grip the bed frame, gasping.

“One.”

The first lash of the whip burned a straight line down his back, pulsing after a moment and fading into an all over tingling sensation that made his legs shake. The second came lighter, then the third, fourth. Each lash of the whip left him rising on his toes only to sink down again in the lull. It was rhythmic. Soothing. He lost count around twenty, wasn’t sure how many more Peter granted him after that. He was simply aware that they stopped coming, then hands were massaging his skin. It should have hurt but there was only the gentle rub and pull as the white-hot sensation filtered down into a pleasant burn.

“Beautiful.” Cool lips kiss lines over his skin. “You did good for me.” They slide across the dip of his spine, teeth scraping abused flesh. “I think that deserves a reward.”

 

*

 

It wasn’t something Peter did often or for many of his partners but it _was_ something he enjoyed immensely. If only for the way they would fall apart under him. Stiles shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, at the way Peter’s hands spread him wide and held him still for the assault he was laying on his nerves. His legs shook and it was barely a minute before he was coming, crying out Peter’s name and slumping in his bonds. Panting turned to whimpering as Peter continued until Stiles was begging “no. no. no more. Oh god. Peter please.” Only then does he take mercy, laying kisses up his spine and undoing the ties around his wrists, rubbing feeling into them gently.

 

“You did good.” Arms wind around him, Stiles’ face against the skin of his throat. It’s expected now, to have his sub wrapped up in his arms and show the more vulnerable parts of himself to Peter. To sit with him in his lap until the fire comes back into his eyes, like warm coals rather than the inferno he expected during the day. He runs fingers through his hair.

 

“You did good.”


	5. Love Is Madness

It’s dark outside, streetlights casting long shadows across the manicured lawns of the neighbors. His skin felt tight, his mind running a mile a minute. The ghost of hands held his ribs and skimmed his back and no matter how he turned he couldn’t stop imagining someone at his side. Someone with blue eyes and who smelled like sandalwood and wilderness. He throws his comforter to the floor and walks over to his phone.

 

[To Peter:] you up?

*

The bed was empty.  It was a king sized bed, but that meant little. It hadn’t been empty before. Before, the sheets smelled like the air before a storm and cinnamon. Before, a warm body with a too fast heart beat had laid claim to half of it. He had never missed someone laying in his arms. Not like this. It wasn’t pining because what they had wasn’t love. It was an arrangement. A beneficial agreement between consenting adults with no pretense of feelings between them. Yet the bed felt empty.

 

Across the room his phone lit the wall.

 

[To Stiles:] Yes.

*

_Take me out of it. I want to forget about everything for a while._

 

Easier said than done. Peter stripped him down, taking time to massage stiff muscles until the human was boneless and splayed across his sheets. He laid the tails of a cat-o-nine over his skin until sighs turned to sobs and the tension leaves Stiles’ body. Until he's limp and tired and content. He revelled in the trust he was given, in how he was allowed to lay his claim across the canvas that was Stiles’ skin. Trusted not to cross that thin line, to care for him.

After, with gentle hands and soft words he ran a bath, sinking into the water with Stiles carefully tucked against his chest. If he were hard pressed he might say that after were his favorite moments, when the only sounds were their breathing and Stiles went easy with his instruction. He contents himself with playing with Stiles’ hair, tracing the marks on his skin and the constellations made by moles until the water lost it's heat.

What they had was nothing in the daylight. In the dark it was everything.


	6. The Wolf

It was nearing the full moon and it was clear that Peter was getting restless. He was biting and scathing during pack meetings in an amount far above the normal. It had been a while since they had a night together - almost three weeks between Stiles’ midterms and pack business. It’s when Stiles is watching TV with his dad that the idea comes to him. Peter was restless, Stiles was itching to get out of his head. He sends the wolf a text.

 

[To: Peter] I have an idea.

[From: Peter] That’s never good.

[To: Peter] Shut up. You’ll like it.

 

It took just a day to set up his plan. He drove to the preserve early, ran the trails until he knew he would have no problems running them again in the evening and then turned his attention to stashing what he needed along the paths he had mapped. He showered back at his apartment, he was going to get dirty again before nightfall but there was prep to do of a more . . .  personal nature.

When Peter drove out to meet him near dusk he was half vibrating with energy. This was something new, something Peter might not even agree to once he knew what Stiles wanted.

 

“So, what’s all this?”

“I want you to hunt me. Listen, listen. I know you’ve been kinda going stir crazy and that you didn’t want to run alone so i thought. You could chase me down - let your wolf out a little bit? If not that’s fine we can go home and you can fuck me into the mattress and I won’t complain a bit because that was amazing last month, but I just thought . . . ”

“Stiles”

“ . . . that you could use this and you’d feel better afterwards but only if you think you won’t like,”

“Stiles.”

“ . . . disembowel me. But we can leave,”

“Stiles, shut up.” The wolf prowls forward, the animal already just beneath the surface. There are fingers caressing his throat, “This is wonderful. But are you sure?”

“Very.”

“Then you should start running.”

 

Stiles had always been a runner and he was grateful for that as he pushed harder through the woods. He’s been running twenty minutes when he hears Peter’s howl echo across the preserve. It gives him the adrenaline to push a little harder. It doesn’t matter in the end, how much he curved and doubled back and forced his legs to carry him on over logs and through the brush. Peter caught him easily, barrelling into him and taking him to the forest floor with claws against his skin and teeth at his throat.

 

“I’ve caught you.” The timbre of the wolf was heavy, rumbling. It made Stiles’ heart race faster. “Now, whatever to do with you?” Peter was holding back, it was clear in the tightness of his shoulders, the flex of his hands where they pinned the human to the ground.

“W-whatever you want.”

“That’s a dangerous offer.” The wolf works a mark into his skin with lips and too sharp teeth. “Are you willing to be mine?”

“Yours.” His shirt splits down the center.

“Yes?” Blazing blue eyes watch him even as the wolf works more marks into his skin, his shoulder, his chest. As claws bring pinpricks of blood to the surface of his hips - it’s good. He wouldn’t ask the wolf for anything else.

“Only yours.”

Peter sinks into him with ease, leaving hand shaped bruises in his hips and thighs. It’s rough and fast and dirty, with an animal edge that should have terrified him. “ _Mine_.”

“Yours, fuck - Peter - **_alpha_ **.” It was with a roar, a primal thing that shook his bones, that Peter came, marking him inside and out. With the wolf at the forefront of his mind he nuzzled and checked over his prey, his Stiles’ body. He had passed out at some point between calling him alpha and coming. Peter would consider it a compliment.

 _Alpha._ Yes, he liked the sound of that. He’d hear it again from his boy, of that he was certain. The wolf was sated, happy and content that they had done well. With the moon thrumming in his veins he gathered his bruised, beautiful, and barely aware of how spectacular he was boy into his arms. It was, after all, an alpha’s duty to care for what was his.


	7. I wanna be yours

Peter sits like a king, legs wide to let Stiles between them, hands clasped on his stomach. He’s a perfect picture of dominance and calm. One hand tangling in Stiles’ hair is enough to drop him down into his space. The place where he is allowed to turn off his mind and just exist for a while. His mind is still online, but there isn’t the usual worry that underlines it all. It’s a place to float, to let someone else have the reins while the world ceased to exist- if only for a moment. 

 

“What are you thinking?” 

“That you look . . .”

“Hmm, what do I look like?”

“Like royalty. Like I could sit here forever.” 

“As lovely as the sight is I think there’s more you could do for me.” He hums. Curious. “Kings are meant to be worshipped after all.”

 

In a different time, Stiles would have called him on his bullshit; but as it was he was in a nice space and the suggestion, the demand, sounded nice. The way he’s guided down but allowed to worship as he sees fit. Because worship it was. It was the reverence that one walked through cathedrals, the roar of a crowd of thousands as their king stood above them, it was the devotion of the sea to the moon. 

 

Stiles follows the tug of fingers in his hair, lays his lips on the wolf’s skin. It’s easy to trace muscles, to let himself simply explore and to lay loving kisses everywhere he touches. To get lost in the feeling of fingers in his hair and the way that they tightened ever so slightly when the salty sweet taste of Peter burst over his tongue. 

It was reverence that guided his movements, adoration in each breath. 

It was everything. 

 

For a moment, everything he was, everything he ever would be - it was Peter’s. Hours later, when his knees were stiff, and rather than floating he felt heavy, he would wonder why. Why of all their moments was  _ this  _ what allowed him to let go?

 

Later he wouldn’t care. He would only know he would do it again. 


	8. Raise The Dead

“Peter?” The room is dark, and there’s rain tapping against his window. He sits up. “Peter, what’s wrong?” The clock read a quarter past one. The wolf takes a half step forward before he stops and seems to reconsider. Stiles jumps up, flipping his lamp on. 

Peter is white as a sheet. There’s blood on his neck and his hair is plastered to his scalp with rain, Stiles hesitates to move further. Looking closer Stiles can see blood on his hands.

“I shouldn’t have come.” 

“Hey, now. Hey, come on, sit down. You’re fucking soaked man.” He guides Peter into the rolling chair and kneels to take the man’s shoes off his feet. They were caked in mud. “What happened?”

 

There’s silence. A silent Peter isn’t good. It means things are bad enough he doesn’t have the snark for it or he’s thinking. Stiles looks up, hands now on the wolf’s thighs. He speaks softly, evenly, “Hey, Wolf. I need you to talk to me.” He rubs gently back and forth, letting the denim drag against his palms. “Are you hurt?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then what happened?” Nothing. “I’ll be right back, don’t leave. Stay right here.” Scott was on patrol but he’d be back before too long. Quickly, Stiles got a washcloth and bowl of warm water. He locked the door when he went back into his room, hanging a sock on the handle just in case - Scott wouldn’t ask why it was locked afterward. Peter was just where he’d left him.

 

“Take your shirt off?” he wasn’t about to run a full shower, but he needed to get the blood off of the wolf. Peter dropped his shirt to the floor and his hands froze at his jeans. “Those too.”

There were remnants of cuts on his side, healed over but clear enough in the half light. Stiles starts there, doing his best to be gentle even if there may not have been the need other’s eyes. He cups Peter’s jaw when he moves to the spots on his neck. “You’re staying here tonight.” It wasn’t a request.

The force that Peter slams into him with is unexpected but he keeps his footing, wrapping his arms around the wolf and letting him press his face against the vulnerable skin of Stiles’ throat. Peter’s voice is weak but not small, “Thank you.”

His bed was a little small for them both but it worked out with Peter’s head tucked under his chin and being so tangled together that had anyone found them it would be impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. It was comforting in a way he couldn’t describe. He only knew it was something he wouldn’t mind doing again under better circumstances.

With the gray light of dawn came answers. That Peter had taken care of the latest threat - an omega wolf - and that long before the blood had dried Derek had found him, Scott as well. He was still pack, but the bonds were strained. Hurting like a deep bruise while his pack withdrew from him once more. Stiles played with his hair.

“You’re okay, now. You’ve still got me.”

 


	9. Dark In My Imagination

It’s a game of cat and mouse when Peter lays clothes out on the bed and stands in the doorway with his arms crossed. They’d talked about this. About playing out in the world and the almost sheer top and jeans so tight they were sure to show off his ass made it clear that tonight was the night. Arms wind around him, a purr next to his ear. “Are you going to be good for me, rabbit?” It curls in his chest, loosens that tightness there. He nods.

“Of course I am.”

Lips press against his pulse point. “What’s your safeword?”

“Wolfsbane.”

“Good boy.” Peter’s voice takes the edge of his dom voice and the hands on his hips flex, no mistaking that this was where their scene was going to begin. “Now, why don’t you get yourself all dressed up for me? Then I want you to come kneel in front of the couch.” He slips away like he was never there and Stiles touches the shirt, it’s silky soft and the weave is just loose enough that when he pulls it over his head there’s the suggestion of skin. It clings to him, shows off where the years of lacrosse have given him lean muscle. He can’t say he doesn’t love it. The jeans are different, comfortable, but different in a way that makes him too aware of himself. There’s nothing else to put on so he takes a deep breath.

 

He kneels on the plush carpet, head bowed and hands on his thighs as had become his go to position. Peter touches his neck with his fingertips but doesn’t direct him up. The wolf sits and draws him close, resting his head on Peter’s thigh while fingers began playing with his hair. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tonight there are three rules I want you to follow. One, the moment you’re uncomfortable with anything or anyone you’re to let me know. Two, you’re allowed to touch others but this,” there’s the slightest nudge against the front of his pants, “is mine. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Three, you are not to drink anything with alcohol in it tonight.” Nails scratch lightly at his scalp and he feels himself sinking into his headspace a little more. The anxiety and uncomfortableness about the outfit ease.

“Two more things. Look up at me.”

Raising his head is a feat but the soft state he’s been lulled into lifts when he sees the black box in Peter’s hands. “I don’t like others touching what’s mine.” Peter cracks the lid, revealing the contents and Stiles’ heart skips a beat. The necklace is beautiful; a black leather band with a silver pendant, a wolf’s head and a spiral behind it are engraved in intricate detail. “I would like if you would wear this tonight, for me.”

His mouth is dry.

“Are you claiming me?”

“No. Not if you don’t want; however, it would appease my wolf if you would accept this for the evening.”

The gesture was bigger than he really knew, to wear Peter’s mark. To be the equivalent of collared - though the piece was nowhere near a collar or even a choker.

He flicks his eyes up to Peter’s. 

“I accept, for the evening.” There is no lying when they are like this. The weight of the pendant around his neck is heavy in a grounding way, resting on his chest. The words come naturally, “Thank you. You said there’s a second thing tonight?”

“Yes.” Fingers stroke the curve of his cheek. “At the end of the night I want to lay claim to you. Not claiming, but I want to show you off as mine. Will you allow that?”

To be shown off, claimed, to see the wolf over him rather than the man.

“Yes. Please.”

 

*

 

The club was loud, but not bright; a place for people in the lifestyle but who wanted a . . . different sort of fun than Simplicity. The moment they stepped inside Peter removed his hand from Stiles’ back, took the leather jacket he draped around his shoulders, and let him go explore. Though not without one last kiss, deep and dirty in a way that sated his wolf.

Stiles gravitated toward the dance floor and Peter . . . Peter was content to watch him. Watch the way others watched him. He imagined the ways tonight would go. It’s as much a test of his own patience as a game between them. When the end of the game would come and he would drag Stiles to the darkest corner and pin him against the wall. Let Stiles ride his thigh until he comes and then drag him home and stake his claim.

Maybe he wouldn’t even wait. Maybe he would push him against the brick wall and take him there.  Let the risk of being caught raise the stakes. Watch his boy fight to stay quiet, feel teeth dig into his neck. Use his claws to carve his name into pale skin and leave bruises in the shape of his hands on Stiles’ pretty neck.

Peter wanted to tie him down, to tease him until he came and then keep going until he wept.

There were times that Peter imagined digging his claws deep, until no one could erase his claim. He brought his glass of water to his lips and his lips curled into a smile. Stiles was twisting and jumping on the dance floor, two girls pressed against him. He’s smiling wide.

It’s nearly two hours later when Stiles leaves the floor for the bar, dragging himself away from a black haired man with blue eyes who was too handsy for either of their tastes. Stiles was leaning against the bar heavily, grinning at the bartender when Peter stepped behind him, arms caging him in. “Can I get you a drink?”

His boy fell against him, smelling like strangers and sweat and sweet citrus. His wolf surged forward and his chest rumbled. “I don’t think I should.” He curled his hand around the jut of Stiles’ hip. “But you might be able to get me something else . . . ” That’s all it took.

He led Stiles out the door, letting his eyes flare bright once out of the building. Stiles’ heart rate spiked, thundering like prey. “Are you scared, little rabbit?” Fabric dragged against brick. Peter stepped forward again.  

“No.”

“No?” Lips pressed against his skin, tasting the sweat on his boy’s neck.

“No.”

“I think you’re lying.”

 

Peter took him against the wall, in the shadows cast by the moon and with his prey’s teeth buried in his skin as he came to his completion. His imagination had nothing on their reality.  

 


	10. Power Over Me

They’re on their own, trekking through the preserve near the reservoir when it hits him. There’s nothing special about the moment, it’s just Stiles being Stiles, clambering up an outcrop of rocks and rambling about how it didn’t make sense that whatever they were chasing was moving over land and killing in water. He was talking fast, moving faster.

Peter was moving even before he slipped, catching the young man around the waist and setting him back on his feet before any damage could be done. It was instinct.

The smile he receives is blinding, the laugh self conscious. It’s then he realizes that there’s no more fooling himself. He is in love with a disaster of a human, with a man so bright it’s blinding. The idea of losing him is terrifying, he would kill for him - die for him. He knows that he’s staring, frozen for a second too long.

 

“What? Something on my face?”

_He would travel the world with him, show him everything there was to see._

“Peter?”

 _He would trust him to have his back. He would give him everything_.

“Hey, you’re kinda freaking me out.”

“Sorry, just wondering how you’ve survived this long is all.”

 

_He’d give him everything. But that wasn’t what was asked of him. Stiles didn’t want the world, he didn’t even want the world to know. Peter wasn’t going to take what he had for granted._

  



	11. Different Kind Of Love

“Peter, always a pleasure to see you.”

The words set him on edge, the voice too familiar and too knowing to be anything less than a challenge. He smiled and turned his head, “Andrew, it’s been a while. I thought you were in New York.”

“I’m in town for a conference, thought I’d spend a night . . . relaxing.” There’s a small gesture to the club around them, a smile like it was some sort of secret. It made him want to rip the man’s throat out. “Are you here alone?” They’d been good together while it lasted. A fun summer, but nothing more than that. It was during a time where Peter was far more of a switch than the dom he had become. Before he could speak, there’s a body sliding into his lap, arms around his shoulders.

 

“He’s not. Sorry.” Stiles didn’t sound a bit sorry about it. Peter smiled and echoed

“Sorry, I suppose you’ll have to relax with someone else tonight.”

 

The man across from him eyed the boy, the way Peter’s hand curled around his hip, and how Stiles played with his hair, pretty brown eyes narrowed as if to challenge the stranger to try to take Peter from him.

“Pity. It was nice to see you, Peter.”

“Good seeing you, Andrew.”

He’s hardly out of earshot when Stiles asked, none too fondly “Who was that?”

“An ex. No one to concern yourself with. It’s all old history.”

“Yeah?” There’s a kiss to his jaw, then another.

“Yeah.”

Peter knew Stiles was possessive, but he’d never expected it to apply to him. The way that Stiles kissed him, with hands tangled in his hair and as though he intended to never come up for air. How he dug nails into Peter’s skin and bit as though he might leave his own claim on the wolf’s skin. Peter revelled in it. In the idea that perhaps, just maybe, Stiles might feel Peter was his to claim.

In how his hands planted firmly on Peter’s chest as he shoved him into the bed, taking control. How beautiful he looked riding him, head thrown back and breathy moans falling from his lips with the rise and fall of him.

After, when Stiles was sprawled over his chest, Peter asked, “Jealous?”

Stiles replied, simply, “Why should I be?”

No, he had no reason to be jealous at all.


	12. Never Tear Us Apart

“Peter.” 

“Don’t Stiles.” 

“Peter, listen to me!” He’s a breath away from screaming, chest tight, there’s blood soaking into the ground and the chains around his wrists are cutting deep. He wants out. He wants to be home and away from the dust and dirt and the ever present smell of burning flesh. 

 

“Peter, you’re not allowed to die. Do you understand me? Look at me.”  _ Don't die. Don’t you dare.  _

The hunters, because they  _ were  _ hunters, ones with magic at their disposal and too good a plan. They had caught them off guard leaving the movies. It was his fault, if he had been faster, smarter, more careful. If he hadn’t wanted to go on a  _ date.  _ If he could have been happy with what they had. Now it was going to all be over. 

The restraints slip, taking skin with it, but not far enough. 

 

“Come on, it’s not that bad.” The blood is too dark where it’s pouring from the wounds on Peter’s chest. The skin is blistered from where they’d taken flame to his skin. Stiles had been unconscious for that. He isn’t sure if it was a mercy. 

“I’m not dead yet.” Tired. Slow. Soft. If he closes his eyes maybe he can pretend they’re in bed. But no. 

 

“Peter, listen.” 

_ Say it. _

“I love you.” 

 

Footsteps. Heavy and deliberate and certainly not friendly. “I love you so you can’t die on me.” 

 

The door opens; he stops where he’s nearly dislocated his thumb to get his hands free. To his side, Peter is quiet, face neutral even though his chest is heaving with pain.  A large man is silhouetted by too-bright sunlight but the blade in his hand is clear. Stiles passes out before too long, when the pain and the screaming becomes too much and the dark feels like a friend. 

 

* 

 

When he comes to, it’s to soft voices and warmth surrounding him. He’s in a bed and there’s the pull of bandages around his chest and wrists. It sparks panic and he wants to tear them off. The bed dips. It’s Scott. “Hey, hey. Calm down you’re okay.” 

“Where’s Peter?”

“He left as soon as you started getting better. He was fine.”

“I need to see him.” Stiles shoves the blankets away and drags himself into his feet. “Where’d he go - nevermind, he wouldn’t actually say. Where’s my shoes?”

“Stiles what are you doing?”

“Finding Peter.” His sigh conveys just how dumb that question was. 

“Why? I mean, I know you’ve been hanging around him for research a lot but that’s not really-”

“I just do, now where are my keys?”

 

He finds Peter at the wolf’s apartment, the Shelby Cobra parked in front. He knocks. Knocks again. The key he’d been given,  _ given _ by Peter, lets him in easy. He locks the door behind him. 

 

“Privacy is important, y’know.”

“So is talking about things.” Peter’s standing at the sink, back to him with no intention of turning around.

 

“I don’t see what we have to talk about.” 

“I know I shouldn’t have said . . . that. It wasn’t the time or place.”

“There’s no time or place to say things you don’t mean Stiles.” 

“You think I didn’t mean it?” 

 

And that. That hurts. He’d known it was a long shot, but after the time they’ve spent together, the  _ trust _ , it hurts. “I did mean it. I love you. I understand if you don’t feel that same, I really do and I can leave and we can end this all if it’s too weird but . . . I love you.” Peter turns. “Say something.” The wolf steps forward. 

 

“You love me.” 

“That’s what I said.” 

 

A single hand lands on his neck, warm and gentle. “You love me.” It’s such a gentle kiss, one that had so far lived only in the dark of Peter’s room, never spoken of. In the light of day it’s so much sweeter. “You love me.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think I love you too.” 


	13. Shameless

There’s four missed calls when Peter leaves the room. The one where his boy was sleeping in the aftermath of hours on the edge. Peter had brought him to the precipice six times before letting him come, revelling in the sweet salty tang of his tears as he cried and begged for his release. It was beautiful to hear the way his own name dropped from bruised and bitten lips when there were no others words to be said. How his boy begged for him.

 

He was so pretty when he surrendered.

 

Stiles was always quiet after their scenes, it was as though the constant hum of him quieted down, his very energy calm. It meant that when he entered the room it took Peter a moment to realize it. Too caught up in the news he had received. The young man didn’t speak when he joined Peter on the couch. The way his fingers tapped the phone he was holding was enough to know.

 

“Stay here, Stiles.”

“But-”

“I said stay here.”

 

He knew what messages Stiles had received. The same as his.

 

“If you’re gonna give me some bullshit about how dangerous it is; don’t.“

“Stiles. This isn’t the usual Beacon Hills danger.”

“No, shut up. Just, shut up Peter.”

“Stiles, this is-”

“Yeah, I know. It’s pack relations and things far beyond my _delicate_ human understanding.”

“It’s not only pack relations, Stiles. This is someone Talia made a deal she never should have made with, calling in her side of it. I want you safe.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Stiles.” It’s sharp. It’s with the rumble of the wolf. “Promise me that you aren’t going to involve yourself in this. Let Derek and I handle it.”

“Scott and Isaac-”

“Are going to either leave it alone or we will send them searching for something else in the meantime.”

“But-“ a sigh “Okay. Okay, I won’t involve myself with whoever this person is.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. You’ll be safe?”

Peter smiles. It’s a small thing. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

 

*

 

Stiles slams the metal bat down against the alpha’s back, once. Twice.  A clawed hand catches it on the third, wrenches it to the side and sends him with it. Something cracks on his impact.

“So this is your play, Peter? Have a _human_ as your safe guard?” she stands, prowls closer with blood dripping freely from her claws. “I’ll enjoy ripping him apart.”

The roar that comes in answer is half feral, thundering in its strength and terrifying in its fury. Stiles curls in around his ribs, arms over his head. He feels rather than sees blood splatter the forest floor. Feels the way the wolf’s breath rattles as they die. Feels how claws close around his wrist and drag it away from his head, too gentle for a monster such as her.

 

“You promised.”

“Oh god. Peter.” It doesn’t matter that he’s blood soaked. That he’s covered in the blood of a dead woman. That if he asked, then he would see red in his eyes. It doesn’t matter that his own ribs scream when he stands and slings his arms around his wolf. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Stiles.”

“She was going to kill you.”

“Yes, but she didn’t. Thank you.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Sweetheart, I’m furious.”

 

They let it simmer for a week. Stiles heals under Peter’s watchful eye and Peter calms his wolf with the care taking Stiles allows him to do. They let the anger turn to something manageable, something less volatile. They don’t talk, not about anything important; they only take comfort in the ability to touch. To prove that they’re still there.

 

The let it sit. Then they can’t anymore.

 


	14. Lie

 

“You’re a fucking _asshole!”_ He can’t stop the words from coming out. Fury bubbles under his skin and he feels like he could rip the wolf apart. He’d lied to him. Nothing else mattered except that. He had been lied to. He slams his palms against Peter’s chest, “You promised!”

Hands close around his wrists, drag him so close he can’t do anything but glare at the wolf - “So did you.” There’s danger there, in his eyes, they aren’t red but Stiles’ knows that it’s only because of the wolf’s control. He knows he’s playing with fire with his hands soaked in gasoline. 

“You were in danger.”

“I had a plan, Stiles. You, however, ran headfirst into a situation that nearly ended in your death. Do you know what I would have done if you died? Do you?” He shakes his head. What else was he to do? “I would have killed everyone who had anything to do with it. I would have lost it.” It’s the closest admission to the power Stiles has over Peter he’d heard. It is in equal parts exhilarating as it is terrifying.

 

“I won’t apologize for saving you.”

“And for breaking your word? Disobeying me?”

“I’m sorry. But if the situation was reversed you’d have done the same. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines because I’m human, I can’t do that and you know it. Peter, you almost died just _months_ ago. You couldn’t expect me to let that happen again.”

“And I have never asked you to, Stiles. But you need to understand that some things you need to stay out of - you’re too valuable to lose in a fight you aren’t needed in. I appreciate your worry.” The human’s shoulders slump and in return the grip on his wrists loosens. “But I need your trust. Understood?” He nods, chest tight but understanding what Peter meant. He wouldn’t promise not to do it again, couldn’t do it knowing the price, but he understood.

 

“Now, what do we need to do about lying to me?”

 


	15. Oh Lord

It was torture. Every nerve ending was screaming - or maybe that was just him. Peter had tied him down spread eagled and given him a grin that spoke of nothing but trouble. The alpha had brought him off with his mouth and allowed him but a moment to breathe before he was starting again. Then he had pressed a vibrator in, one Stiles knew but never played with before- curved and sleek and tempting- and he jerked so hard the bedposts groaned.  It was torture in the best way.

 

“Peter. Peter I’m sorry - I’m _sorry_ ,” he wanted to _touch._ He wanted to touch and to float in blissful nothingness for as long as he might be allowed. Peter wasn’t so merciful. He kissed his tears away.

“One more for me sweetheart, just one more. Then we’re done. You’ve taken it all so beautifully. You can handle another, can’t you?” It’s a question, really, and the way Peter’s hands still over his ribs makes sure he knows it.

It’s a long moment of silence, only his own ragged breathing to fill the air between them and the low buzz of the toy snug inside of him. “I - I can try.”

“Good boy.”

 

The toy is cast aside as Peter takes him slowly, fucks him until he comes dry, shaking apart and crying out his name. Blood on in his mouth from his bitten lip.  After, Peter takes care of him. _Always_ takes care of him. Gives him food and water and tucks him into bed. Curls around him and over him as a solid weight, sure and steady and exactly what he needs.

They were okay.

 

His voice cracks on the words, too exhausted to think, let alone speak. But he says them anyway. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Now get some sleep.”


	16. Anything Goes

He needs to be taken out of it so desperately that he feels he is dying. Finals were hell, his dad had tests run at the hospital, Peter had been out of the state on business, and he was  _ tired.  _ It’s how Peter finds him, sitting in the diner that has become their spot, tense, eyes closed,  _ exhausted _ . When fingers close around the back of his neck he slumps into the hold, turning his eyes up to meet the wolf. “It’s been a hell of a week.” 

“I’ve got you.” 

 

*

 

He’s blindfolded. The strip of satin tied firmly around his eyes effectively blacks out the room and part of him wants to take it off, to throw it far away so he can see his dom, see anything. 

 

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you.” Hands move over his skin, “Breathe.” Stiles closes his eyes, gives himself an excuse for the darkness, lets his head fall back. Let’s Peter take him under. It’s shallow but it’s enough. It needs to be enough. 

 

His thighs burn from the riding crop Peter takes to them, his chest feels lighter with every word that leaves the Alpha’s lips. Soft praise and utter filth twined so tightly he doesn’t know which is which. When Peter finally decides to bring him off, Peter’s hand on his cock is far from the most important part. And yet there’s something missing. 

 

He grips Peter’s wrist and brings his hand to his throat. Fingers caress before squeezing, just a bit. “Color?” 

 

It takes a moment to find the word. “Green.” It’s something they’ve talked about. He wants it. He wants to feel nothing and everything and to float. Just float. The pressure increases, and his body goes slack. Breathing gets harder as his airway tightens, as does Peter’s grip around his cock. The edge is close, just a little more pressure, a whispered word - but then his chest is tight and colors spark behind his eyes, but in a way that only makes him fight for more breath. He chokes on the next word from his mouth, a barely there “red.” 

 

It’s not good anymore. It’s too much and only too much. The hand on his throat is gone, had been before the word left his lips, but the tightness is still there. He still can’t draw breath. 

 

It doesn’t register that Peter is holding him in his lap, that the hand rubbing circles on his skin is good, or that Peter is speaking to him with the rumble that only shows up in the moments after Stiles wakes. None of it matters until the blindfold is off and soft lights sting his eyes. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Peter is brushing the tears from his cheeks. 

“Breathe for me, there you are. Shh, breathe in. There we go.” 

It feels like forever before he finds his voice. He’s cold, shaky, heavy like his blood has been replaced with sand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hush, don’t apologize. I do want you to tell me what sparked that, if you think you can.” He lays his head against Peter’s collarbone and breathes for a minute. 

 

“Void. It felt like Void.” 

 

*

 

Peter holds his boy close, the stinging scent of anxiety and panic are still thick in the room and it is all he can do not to simply move them both away. Instead, he presses his nose against Stiles’ skin and says, “No more blindfolds.”  He draws a deep breath, he shouldn’t have pushed any boundaries with him, not today. He’d failed him. He didn’t deserve him. And still, “What do you need from me?” 

“I think . . . I think I just want to watch a movie . . . ” 

 

He can do that. 


	17. Spiritual

 

There’s the sweet smell of coffee drifting through the apartment. It drags him from bed and to the kitchen where Peter is making breakfast.  He winds his arms around Peter’s waist, pushing his face against his back, forehead against his warm skin. “G’morning.”

“Good morning.”

There’s a hum before Peter turns, arms coming around the human. His kiss tastes like sugar.

 

“Sleep well?”

“Always.”

“Good.”

“Derek called, wanted you to come get a book.”

“Did he say when?”

“At your convenience.”

“Mmm. Next week is convenient.”

Stiles laughs, “No it’s not, we’re going to the club next week.”

“Oh yes. The week after then.”

 

It’s good, sitting next to Peter at the kitchen table, the TV playing in the background. It’s domestic. It’s everything Stiles hadn’t known he needed just a year prior, and looking across at Peter he knows that it’s something that he will fight to keep. Maybe it is something that should have been complicated. It isn’t.

 

It’s a kind of love that just is. It’s simple.

 

They deserve something simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time writing for the Steter Reverse Bang and it was a lot of fun! I always appreciate feedback but know I appreciate all of you regardless! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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